On The Trembling River
by onekilobyte
Summary: AU. King Cameron Specter of Sydia killed Mike's family and captured his kingdom. Mike poses as a servant-boy for Cameron's son, Harvey, to exact revenge. However, things don't fall according to plan when Mike finds himself falling a little bit in love.
1. Chapter 0A

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** _Suits_ is property of the USA Network &c., written by Aaron Korsh et. al.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After King Cameron Specter of Sydia killed Mike's family and captured his kingdom, Mike decides to pose as a servant-boy for Cameron's son, Harvey, to exact revenge. However, things don't fall according to plan when Mike finds himself falling a little bit in love with the prince.  
><strong>A few things you should know:<strong>  
>(1) This AU isn't intended to be historically-accurate, despite its containing medieval-ish elements. It speaks of the fictional world of Ceylen.<br>(2) A word of warning:** This _will_ end with slash pairings**, namely Harvey Specter/Mike Ross, and Rachel Zane/Donna Paulsen. If that offends you, this is your out.  
>(3) Enjoy the story!<p>

* * *

><p>"James!"<p>

Mike stirred in his sleep, and covered his ears with a pillow. He could not take this noise, the constant screaming, and the screeching, and the _demands_ and _dammit_, he was getting _tired_.

"James Zane!"

Mike opened his eyes, then, and squinted at the harsh sunlight. A lady in thick robes greeted him, and looked stern as she shook Mike's shoulder.

"Wake up, you rag. The Prince demanded your presence _ages_ ago!" she said, in dramatic diatribe. "This is absolutely _no way_ to start your first day, and you best know that."

"Huh – oh. Wait," Mike said, "Let me just fix my –"

The lady (Madam Agnes, as he would soon learn) scoffed and raised an eyebrow. "Wait? Fix? You will be doing none of that," she said, pulling on Mike's arm. "Now, get up, get going, or you'll be sleeping in the stables tonight."

Mike welcomed the thought, if it meant just a few more hours of sleep. He was still tired from his travels, his legs aching from the walk, and he could feel the exhaustion from his bones. His muscles screamed for brief respite, and demanded pampering – much like he was used to. But he cannot, he knew, if he were to last a few months in disguise. He sat up, and stared into space for a little while, thinking, and thinking, and thinking.

An old man screamed. "What's with the noise over there?"

"It's that new servant you were talking about last night," Madam Agnes said, "And he's doing a disappointingly poor job on the first day."

Mike scrambled to find his clothes and get dressed, while telling Madam Agnes to leave the room. Once Mike shed his clothes, he realized why, exactly, the old lady had worn thick garments: it was cold, and was it _really_ summer? And so Mike donned his shirt, a mantle, and his trousers. He brought with him a hat, for good measure, since he cannot be _too_ sure of the weather in these parts. Mike looked at the mirror and surveyed his appearance. _This would appease them_, he thought, _and pull yourself together, Michael, you want this to be successful, don't you?_

Someone rapped on the door in quick succession, impatiently demanding entry to the room. It must be an exasperated Madam Agnes, Mike concluded.

"I'm on my way, Madam Agnes, I –"

Mike opened the door to find the Crown Prince himself standing on the other side.

"Your Highness –" Mike said, thinking of an explanation, or an excuse, or maybe both.

"Save it," the prince said, cold and unfeeling. It was an odd thing to hear, something this cold, for all he knew of royalty was warmth. Mike remembered home as he looked upon the prince, the latter's robes not much different from Mike's own, in a different kingdom. Mike did wear such clothes, once upon a time.

"I don't have time for your nonsense," the prince said, "Snap out of your reverie, and I would like you to go to the stables, because we'll be riding out. Now."

"Aye, Your Highness," Mike said, running out of the room.

Once he was outside, he had discovered that the Kingdom of Sydia was as cold as his sister's tales had told him. He had slowed his run to a mere jog, moving as swift as he can so that he may arrive at the stables (which was, he hoped, as warm as the keep). He was greeted with a young stablehand, already waiting with several horses: one was a stallion, grand as it stood, with silk-black coat, and Mike thought that this has _got_ to belong to the Prince. Beside it stood another stallion, similarly grandiose, which possessed a white coat that could only be grown from the stables of the Kingdom of Ross.

Suddenly, this horse seemed familiar.

Mike approached the horse, pulled by a certain curiosity (and his curiosity did always trump his common sense) and pet its crest. Its coat was as smooth as he remembered it, and the name finally caught up with Michael: "Nicholas," he whispered.

Mike knew, even before then, that a war's winner takes the spoils. He just found it difficult to believe that his own horse stood before him, alive and well and now a horse of Sydia than of Ross. It pained him. It pained his pride. This horse reminded him of everything he lost, and –

"So you found the horses," the prince said.

Mike snapped out of his thoughts. "Yes, Your Grace," he replied.

"None of that. I hate using titles in my household," the prince said. "Call me Harvey or Sir but none of the Your Highness bullshit."

Mike stared at the prince for a moment, surprised at both his lack of care for courtesies and his vulgarity. It was a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He slowly nodded, seeing the prince's (or Harvey, as the man preferred) eyebrows raised in expectation. Prince Harvey sighed exasperatedly.

"Did you leave your head in your bed, lad?"

"I hope not, Sir," Mike said, hoping to cheer the chilly mood.

"What's your name, anyway?" Prince Harvey asked.

"James, Sir," Mike replied. "James Zane."

It may still take a while for Mike to adapt his second name as his first, but it was necessary for his own safety. _Nothing is what it seems in Sydia, Michael,_ his grandmother told him one chilly night before he set out for the capital. The wounds of war were fresh, and Mike was strategizing – plotting revenge, more like – when his grandmother cautioned him. _Don't act impulsively, Michael,_ she said, _because your escape and this refuge will have been in vain._

His grandmother, Rebecca Zane, lived in a quaint estate in the outskirts of the capital Specter, still within the Sydian territory. She lived there even after her daughter married James Ross, Mike's father, _because the pansies grow here._ If it concerned anyone in House Specter to know, the royal family of Ross was, in part, Sydian. Mike still did not understand the motive for war, or why his own father had not worked harder to negotiate with the Specters. But, as his grandmother said, there's no telling with King Cameron Specter on the throne. _Impulsive, that one,_ she said, _so be __**careful**__, Michael._

Mike still remembered the defeat of House Ross, and his subsequent escape. He remembered being lectured about maps beforehand, taught self-defense and terrain awareness, told repeatedly by his mother to keep running and to never look back. He remembered the heat of the fires from the walls, the iron stench of blood filling his senses, the moans of the people, _his people_, and even at such an age as fifteen, Michael's heart bled for these people he was told to love.

He was not alone in his escape, of course. With him came his father's ward, Rachel Zane, whom he has considered his sister, as well as Trevor Evans, a criminal turned serving-boy turned Knight, and Jenny, Rachel's servant-girl. It took them several nights to arrive at grandmother's home, and when they had arrived, Rebecca had given them enough food and clothing to last them a few moons.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "We still don't have a name for her."

Mike replied, "No name for a stallion as this, Sir?"

"No name. My father and uncle got him from the war. A fine one, isn't he?"

Mike nodded.

"This will be your horse. He's taken a liking to you, and I'd like to think you can handle it. You _can_ handle it, can you not?"

Mike nodded, dumbfounded. Were all servants treated this way in this kingdom? A noble stallion for a lowlife? Mike knew that it would take a while for him to get used to the customs of Sydia, but he would manage. He can do this. He can do this.

"That settles it," said Prince Harvey. "Decide on a name for later. We're going hunting."


	2. Chapter 0B

_Thank you so much for the alerts, favorites, and reviews! :)_

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><p>Harvey Specter hated royalty.<p>

Oh, no, Harvey Specter was, indeed, royal, and he loved the finer things – he loved fine wine and fine horses and fine clothing, but he absolutely _abhorred_ royalty. He hated the snootiness associated with it, he hated the haughty _gloating_ (he wasn't averse to it, but gloating was fine if done _right_ and damn these people really don't know how). He hated how he had to act a certain way, walk a certain way, talk a certain way.

And those were excuses. Harvey was no fool, and he wasn't going to fool himself. He hated royalty with a burning passion not because of custom and courtesy – though those _did_ get on his nerves. What Harvey hated can be simply complex or complicatedly simple (you choose which – they were both, Harvey thinks):

Harvey hated the _limits_.

Oh, power is boundless – especially if you were the Crown Prince, heir to the throne of Sydia. Harvey knew that since he learned how to speak. Harvey was not talking about the limits of his power, or the limits of his money, for he had both in endless reserve. It had become monotonous since he turned twelve and received Antonio, his horse. There was nothing higher than that, he thought, and life had become flat and tasteless. Clearly, royalty was limited to its power that it ruled out the dynamic, the ever-changing. When you are royalty, you can get anything, except for one.

What Harvey wanted – what Harvey _craved_ for was risk.

When you are royalty, there is no risk of anything but uncertain death. There is no risk of bankruptcy, no risk of torture, no risk of loss. There is no fear but in the Great Equalizer. There is no excitement but in that which is unknown.

This was why Harvey Specter loved dueling. He loved how his sword becomes an extension of his being, how his sword spoke for what his words lack, at times. He loved how only skill and finesse mattered in the arena. He valued the judge of every duel – not death itself, but fear of it. _The most skilled fighters don't kill,_ Madam Jessica, his combat instructor, had taught him once before. _The most skilled fighters instill the fear of death in their adversaries_.

Harvey had won every single duel championship in Sydia since five years ago, when he began fighting in the arena. He had not shed blood, not even once.

Madam Jessica was right after all.

* * *

><p>"You will have a new serving-boy," Cameron Specter remarked. It was another typical family dinner, with Cameron, Harvey's father, sitting at the head of the table. To his right was Harvey, naturally, and beside Harvey, Donna, his dear cousin.<p>

Harvey sighed. He didn't particularly care for changes in service, and he did not care for what may have happened to Rosa (unless she was in grave danger, naturally), but he _liked_ Rosa's job. She did a decent job cleaning up his room and taking care of his business when he was gone for hunting or training or war.

Harvey looked to his father. "Pray tell, is this serving-boy as competent as Rosa?"

His father nodded. "I hear he's the best dog there is."

"Don't call him that," Harvey said, hating how his father treated those of a lower rank. Harvey himself had not been so polite with them, either, but he extended courtesy to those that were due it. He was crass and he knew that, but he was not condescending – or he _hoped_ he was not.

"He will begin tomorrow," his father said, ignoring Harvey's earlier statement. Cameron had a tendency to be callous when he was not impulsive, and Harvey knew better than to answer back.

"Alright, father," Harvey said.

Donna, to his right, elbowed Harvey. Harvey looked to Donna and she whispered, "I heard he was cute."

Harvey glared at Donna. "Do I look like I _care_?"

Donna raised an eyebrow – perfectly sculpted, and Harvey still did _not_ know how Donna did that. "Don't even kid around, Harvey, you _do_ care."

Harvey bit his lip. "I do _not_."

"But you _will_," Donna said, "You will when you see him."

* * *

><p>Harvey was genuinely curious about the new servant. He was, as Donna implied the night before, attractive. Attractive to a fault, really – his blue eyes warmer than the cold stares of many in his homeland. He had golden hair, and Harvey was dumbstruck. This kid <em>really<em> did not look like a peasant. He did not even look like a Sydian. Perhaps this kid was a product of war. Maybe. His features certainly reflected the descriptions of the people of Ross – now the highest-selling whores in the whorehouses, and this man before him was just as exquisite.

Harvey was becoming very impatient, though. This kid looked like he left his head in the bed.

"What is your name, anyway?" Harvey inquired.

"James, Sir," the servant replied, "James Zane."

The servant – James, as he was called – seemed to suit the horse beside him. He remembered the stallion's humiliating entrance near the walls of the capital. It was looted from Ross, after the war, and even in the context of loss, the horse looked gallant. It put the horses of some knights to shame.

Harvey was a firm believer of matching a horse to the person. He compared matching horses to tailoring clothing: it had to fit, or it would not suit its purpose.

Right now, seeing James (no doubt from Ross), he could not imagine any man better suited to own the horse. And so he had come to a conclusion.

"We still don't have a name for her."

The servant, in wide-eyed shock, replied, "No name for a stallion as this, Sir?"

"No name. My father and uncle got him from the war. A fine one, isn't he?"

James nodded.

"This will be your horse. He's taken a liking to you, and I'd like to think you can handle it. You _can_ handle it, can you not?"

James nodded his head, in eager enthusiasm. Maybe his father was right: this servant maybe _was_ a dog in some other life. Harvey preferred to think of this one as a _puppy_, though. Harvey made his decision quick, looking at the rising sun.

"That settles it," Harvey said. "Decide on a name for later. We're going hunting."


	3. Chapter 1

__**  
><strong>_So instead of splitting the chapters and updating it one by one, all clusters of chapters will be posted together. **A** chapters are Mike chapters and **B** chapters are Harvey chapters.  
>Again, your comments, subscriptions to story alerts, and favorites are much appreciated!<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 1.1<strong>_

_**Mike**_

"_Have you ever crossed the river, father?"_

His father stood on the riverbank looking just as Mike remembered him: stately, golden, _warm_. Mike had forgotten what warm felt like, and here he was. The warmth penetrated him, gave him a feeling of home that he had not felt since he had escaped. He cherished this alternate reality, even if this would disappear in a while.

"I have, of course," King James replied.

It was exactly a year after his mother's death, and King James had brought Mike to the river. Helene Ross loved the river, and would always tell Mike to treasure it. _Kingdoms are built from rivers_, she told him, _and it is where most of life itself comes from._

And then a hazy fog took over Mike's senses. His breathing became heavy, his skin was pricked with cold, and he scrambled to find warmth –

– only to wake up in his bed.

Madam Agnes stood over him, impatiently tugging on his covers. Mike held on to them, though, hoping to exhaust its warmth.

"Come now, boy!" Madam Agnes exclaimed, "It is an hour past sunrise. You must tend to the Prince's belongings."

While Mike had gone hunting with Harvey the day previous, he was given an orientation of what he was to do: "Your job," the Prince said, "Is to make sure I don't screw my shit up."

Mike nodded, though he did not know what his master's statement implied.

Later on, Mike met the Prince's cousin, Duchess Donna of the Paulsen manor, and she had adequately explained what his job required of him.

"Harvey's an emotionally-stunted wuss," Madame Donna said. "What he meant was that before he wakes up, you make sure that his armor is polished, his clothes ready, his books by the desk, and his food on the table, so he can break his fast."

_Simple enough_, Mike thought. _Enough to survey this Prince._

Mike left his bed and mechanically donned his apparel. Yet again, he put on two layers of clothing, fearing the cold outside. He can never get used to this weather, not when home had been so warm. Madam Agnes had prepared porridge for Mike, and while it was no breakfast fit for royalty, Mike ate it out of gratitude.

After rushing through his breakfast, he ran up to the Prince's chambers, hoping that the Prince was asleep. Before he entered the room, he ran into Duchess Donna, who laughed. Mike paid no heed to her laughter, although Mike was a bit curious to know what she had been laughing about.

When Mike opened the wooden doors of the chamber, he was greeted with an impatient-looking Prince Harvey.

Mike bowed his head. "Your Grace."

"Left your head somewhere, puppy?"

Mike shot up at the nickname. _Puppy, really?_

Mike started, "My humble apologies for my tardiness, Your Grace –"

"How many times must I _tell_ you –" Prince Harvey said, "It's either 'Sir' or 'Harvey'. And in any other case, you are _late_. I understand that this is your first week working for me, but if you don't fix your act, you're as good as fired. Is that understood?"

Mike nodded meekly.

"Now, come with me," Prince Harvey said, briskly walking out of his chambers, "And bring my armor."

Mike followed him through, and he took this time to examine the structures of this castle: while his castle at Ross had been built from marble and limestone and had many open spaces, the Specter castle was dark and had walls in most places. The lamps were always lit, even during the day, and even then, it was never warm enough. Not warm enough for Mike, anyway.

There were beautiful staircases and doorways and Mike had always appreciated fine woodwork. He was never skilled at crafts, and was grateful that his job did not require such.

Harvey had toured him through the rooms, "just so you don't get lost again, as I fear you may have," he told Mike. It did not take too long to go from one room to another, as the chambers were close to each other.

It all led to an empty room, with two swords by the wall, and in the middle of the room sat a woman in armor. Now, while his own Kingdom had been progressive in accepting women as equals, he had never thought that he would see a woman in armor in his lifetime. Rachel would be so _excited_ to see this, and had hoped that she would follow soon enough.

"James," Prince Harvey said, "Allow me to introduce you to my combat instructor, Madam Jessica. Madam Jessica, this is my servant, James Zane."

Madam Jessica eyed him cautiously, staring directly at his eyes. Mike knew not to avert his own, but he could not help but be nervous at this lady's examination.

"Zane," the Lady said. "Are you related to the Queen of Ross?"

Harvey snapped his head to look at Mike, and Mike could do all but to buck under pressure. _You have practiced this, Michael,_ he told himself.

"I am not sure if you are aware of the Ross family lines, Madam," Mike said, "But all Zanes from the land can be traced back to Norbert Zane. He had two sons, Thomas and Paul, and I was of Paul Zane's lineage. Paul Zane was a humble farmer near Cilantris, a former Ross territory to the south of Sydia, as was my father, as I should have been. The Queen of Ross was of Thomas Zane's lineage, Thomas – whose granddaughter was married to the great King James of Ross. So to answer your question, milady," Mike took a breath, "I am, indeed related to the Queen – but only so distantly. She was the Queen of Ross. I, meanwhile, am a humble farmer."

Madam Jessica surveyed Mike, eyes wandering, as though she were weighing his statement. It pained Mike to speak so mechanically of his family, but it was necessary if he were to survive.

"A humble farmer," Madam Jessica murmured. She whipped her head to Harvey and threw him a sword. Harvey, still in surprise, almost let the sword slip; Jessica looked at him amusedly.

"Don't tell me that you're distracted enough by a farmer's history to not pay attention to your sword!" Lady Jessica said.

Mike chuckled. Prince Harvey glared. Mike shut up.

"Certainly not, milady," Prince Harvey said, "But I found myself thinking of what I shall do tonight."

"The taverns again, young one?"

Prince Harvey smirked. "You know me well, Madam J."

Madam Jessica rolled his eyes. And then combat began.

Mike watched the two train. Harvey was graceful, surely, but forceful as well. Madam Jessica looked effortless executing several turns and slashes, hits and jabs. This seemed almost like dancing – a bit different from House Ross' style of fighting.

It ended with Prince Harvey on the wall with a sword to his throat. Mike had never felt more honored than to see the prince of a ruthless kingdom near death. He smiled.

Prince Harvey smirked. "Complete accident, milady, I assure you."

Madam Jessica scoffed, then released her grip on the prince. "Accident, on purpose. The only important thing is, is that I'm taller than you."

Mike did all he could to hold back his chuckle, only to be met by Prince Harvey's glare.

"Don't even think about it," Prince Harvey said.

"Wasn't thinking anything, Sire," Mike replied.

Prince Harvey grinned, cat-like. He removed his armor, gave them to Mike – "Polish them, why don't you," – and left the room. Mike, clueless, gathered the armor, and was about to leave the room when –

"Heads up, James Zane."

Flying towards Mike was the same sword that Prince Harvey used earlier. Mike caught it, of course, but he dropped the armor in the process.

In front of him stood Madam Jessica, still dressed in armor, in a defensive stance.

"Is James Zane really your name, Sire?" Jessica inquired. Mike stood still, unable to compose himself. Already, he has aroused suspicion. He's a bad liar, a _horrible_ liar. He was telling himself this, when Madam Jessica swung her sword and –

"A one-handed grip on the sword, I see," Madam Jessica said, "Not typical of someone trained in this land."

"I don't know," Mike said, "What you're talking about," in between pants, "Milady."

Madam Jessica stopped, and gazed at Mike's eyes. "Paul Zane's grandson is dead."

"Apparently not, milady, for here I stand –"

"Save me the bullshit," Madam Jessica said. Her voice cut through like knives. Mike was rattled, and a shiver ran down his spine, and he was damn sure it wasn't because of the fucking _cold_ of this whole damn _kingdom_.

"Bullshit, milady?"

"You're not James, are you?"

"How are you to know, Madam?" Mike said, taking breaths in between each word.

"James Zane is dead," Madam Jessica said matter-of-factly.

Mike broke eye contact, and stared at the floor. He whispered, "You're right. I'm not James Zane."

Jessica walked near Mike, armor clanking and sword dragging against the floor (Mike almost winced. You don't do that to swords.). Standing a hair's width away from Mike, Jessica whispered.

"So who are you, really?"

"A traitor to your land, surely." Mike said, unyielding. That's as much as he would give. He couldn't risk grandmother, and Rachel, and Trevor and Jenny.

Madam Jessica circled Mike, examining him. "From the resistance, then. But you look much more… exquisite than the regular townsfolk of that kingdom."

Mike bit his lip. "You seem to know much of Ross to assume such, milady."

The Lady smiled. "Fool. I _am_ from Ross. The Pearson family is sworn to the Ross royal family."

Mike considered the statement. He looked at Lady Pearson, and tilted his head in thought. "Why are you in Sydia, then?" Mike asked. "Why are you not in the resistance?"

Madam Jessica smiled. "I like Harvey. I'm confident that he won't screw this land up as much as his father has. Back to topic," she said, "Who _are_ you?"

Mike exhaled slowly. There was no getting around this woman, was there?

"I am Michael James Ross, of House Ross, Crown Prince of the Kingdom so named –"

"Prince Michael." Jessica said, interrupting Mike. "Harvey's counterpart."

Mike nodded. Madam Jessica raised an eyebrow. "So you escaped."

"My mother told me to," Mike replied.

"No looking back. Typical of Helene," Madam Jessica said, hand extended. "Your sword, Prince?"

Mike handed his sword. "You knew my mother, milady?"

Madam Jessica nodded. "I knew more about her than you would know," she said.

"You still haven't answered my question," Mike said. "Why are you here?"

"I am not liable to answer to you," Madam Jessica said. "Let _me_ ask _you, _Your Grace. Why are _you_ here? – no, wait. Let me answer that for you: vengeance, is it?"

"After what they did? Definitely."

"'They'? The Specters?" Jessica inquired.

"The Specters," Mike said with bitterness, remembering the anger he held towards the lot, remembering the night of his father's death, remembering the reason for his mother's death.

Madam Jessica bit her lip. "I suppose I have to tell you the truth, then."

"The truth would be nice," Mike said, still panting in-between breaths. He had not fought in battle for a while, and had not held a sword for years.

"I was sent here," Madam Jessica began, as she sat down. Mike did the same. "By your mother, Helene. She was princess back then, and I don't know if you remember those days."

Mike nodded, gesturing his hands to signal. "Continue," he said.

"I was sent here to spy on the Specters, because early on, there were already tensions of war. The Kingdom of Ross was this kingdom's greatest enemy. Ross had rivers, Sydia had –"

"Land. I'm aware," Mike said. "What I _want_ to know is what made you _stay._ We've had a lot of spies, Lady Pearson, and they've all come back come wartime."

"Harvey made me stay."

That effectively shut Mike up.

"Will you let me finish?"

Mike nodded.

"I was sent to spy on the Specters and report of any inconsistencies with what the King reports. I _stayed_ because your mother thought better of the Specters. She was right, of course. Your mother had a tendency to be."

"She wasn't," Mike said, bitter tears filling his eyes. "Or she would have been alive."

Madam Jessica glared at Mike. "She wasn't about Cameron, surely. But have you _seen_ Harvey?"

Mike had not had the opportunity to observe Prince Harvey outside of his daily routine. His hard exterior and blatant assholery were enough to throw Mike off and conclude that the Prince was, indeed, just as _crazy_ as his father.

"I took it upon myself to mentor the kid," Madam Jessica said, "And protect him when his father couldn't. He has so much _potential_ and he has shown it. And I won't let anyone ruin that, not even the Ross family."

Mike weighed her statements carefully. "If Ross were still existent," he said, "This would have counted as treason. You're changing sides, Lady Pearson, and that's unbecoming of a duchess, no matter where they come from."

Lady Pearson smiled. "Do you know the difference between Harvey and his father, child?"

Mike shook his head. Seemed the same to him.

"Harvey hates war."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harvey<strong>_

"This way, darling," the voice said, as hands led Harvey to a warm, dark room.

Harvey was being pulled by his robes, and hey - he wasn't complaining. As long as he could get something, some sort of reward after this heaven-forsaken-exhausting day, then he was fine. Perfectly fine. Harvey had, of course, mastered the art of seduction a long, long time ago (and by long, he meant five years) - and yet he still lacked fulfillment (or at least, as far as noncommittal, quick sex gives fulfillment anyway). He didn't know what he was looking for, to be honest, but Harvey just craved for a challenge because ever since he was born, everything's been easy.

Judging from Harvey's lack of regard for the bodies he sleeps with, it was hard to believe that he was heir to the throne. It wasn't that he didn't care for his position at all, or that he wanted out of royalty. He cared very much about his kingdom and its people (in theory). He felt a certain detachment that he really shouldn't, the kind of detachment that may well turn him to the very person he did not want to become: his father.

Jessica warned him about this.

But this was getting just a bit ridiculous.

Whispers plagued his ear. "Make it worth my while, Sir Gabriel?"

When screwing a man as hot as the one on his bed right now gets very mechanical, something was very, very wrong. While it has not become a chore just yet, sex has become meaningless, something just to get off. And he's had to be more careful, lately, leaning exclusively on men, because his father didn't want a bastard grandson.

Harvey wasn't stupid. Through his sexual conquests, he hadn't used his given name. No, he used a name his dreams conjured, slipped into the persona of his ideal, just a simple lad wanting to become a Knight. It was believable, and it got him laid. Gabriel. _Gabriel Gaynesford, twenty-four cycles, I can beat your ass with a sword and a blindfold. Oh, and I can hold my liquor more than you can, let's be sure of that._

Yet somehow, this – what he was doing – did not hold the same excitement it once did. He was going through the motions, and the people underneath him (or on top of him, if he were so willing) melted like wax when with him, but still, he felt nothing.

He bought a Rossian tonight. _One of our finest_, the peddler said. Blonde hair and green eyes, this one. Freckled, young, and was he _willing_. He flushed so _beautifully_, Harvey thought, and damn if the sex wasn't good.

The Rossian was _exquisite_. He found that it was the only word to describe peoples of that land. _Exquisite_. Shame they were weak – they may have been a worthy adversary, but they _lost_, and Harvey did not like losing.

"Getting ahead of yourself?" Harvey murmured, the Rossian's fingers wandering below Harvey's navel.

The Rossian smirked. "I had hoped you'd like eagerness, Sire," he said.

"And eager you are," Harvey said, mind flashing back to piercing blue eyes and red lips and dirty blonde hair, the damn _puppy_.

"Can I…?" the Rossian inquired, fingers wandering down below, yet again.

"No," Harvey said, grabbing the boy's hands. He licked a stripe on the boy's neck, feeling the hairs raise on the boy's forearms. Then Harvey breathed, "What is your name?"

"What you'll be moaning all night, Sire," the boy said. _Spirited, is he._

Harvey grinned. "I mean it. Your name. I don't care if it's your real one," he said, as he sucked on the boy's neck with earnest. As expected, the boy moaned.

"J—_ah_—Julian. Julian, sire."

Harvey's hands wandered, pinching on the boy—Julian's—nipples, before he fisted the latter's cock.

"Not yet," Harvey said, as he let go of Julian's cock. A hand traveled behind, sliding a finger near the boy's ass. With the other, Harvey grabbed hold of the lube the whorehouse had prepared, and coated his fingers and slid _in_ –

"Oh… gods, _please_," the boy begged.

Harvey _loved_ control, _craved_ it as much as he loved risk. He loved knowing that he was in control of this boy's release, in control of the situation in front of him. This took him higher than anything could possibly have. He was witnessing complete submission: the body beneath him thrashing, thrusting upward, reddened cock dripping, face flushed, the _agonizing torture _written all over his face. Harvey cupped the boy's balls, fiddled with it, as he dragged his teeth along the boy's milky neck.

"N-no," the boy said. "You can't mark me,"

Harvey exhaled sharply. "I bought you for tonight, you –"

It was the boy's turn to bite his lips. "You are a wonder, Sire, but," he said, "I have a wife."

Nothing was more of a boner-killer than that. He got the boy off regardless, because a gentleman never leaves his partner _empty_. Harvey refused his own pleasure, though. The effort was not worth it.

"She doesn't know you are here, does she," Harvey said much later, while throwing on his garments.

The boy shook his head.

"You're not a war-prisoner, then."

"Master Ilian has been gracious, Sir," the boy said, referring to the peddler, "He promised to hide my family, for this in return."

Harvey surveyed the boy. "How does one as young as you have a wife?"

"I am twenty-five cycles old, Sir. Not that young, I believe."

Harvey's eyebrows were raised. And here he was, referring to the man as a _boy_ the whole time. In annoyance, he departed, leaving the boy without much but a few pence and the afterglow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 1.2<strong>_

_**Mike**_

"So what am I to do now? I'm in the castle, you caught me… you could _report_ me to the Prince and I can be hanged for treason if _that's_ what you want."

"Don't be silly, Michael," Madam Jessica said, "I think this is an opportunity."

"An opportunity," Mike said. "An opportunity for _what_, exactly?"

Jessica smiled. "I will give you six months. Six full moons. Observe our dear Crown Prince and see for yourself. Maybe you would learn a thing or two from him," she said.

"Learn?" Mike said, incredulous. "I doubt I need learning at the hands of a corrupt prince."

Madam Jessica extended her arms. "I thought your father taught you that virtue is not from blood."

"I know what my father said," Mike said.

"Six months, Michael," Madam Jessica said, "That, or I end this, right here, right now."

Mike read too much to jump into this agreement headfirst. "What are the terms of this arrangement, Lady Pearson?"

"Maestro Geoffrey has taught you well, I see. Either that or you have been married to the library, as you reportedly are."

"Stop it with the jokes, milady," Mike said, "And please. The terms."

"Alright," Madam Jessica said, "Six moons, you don't do anything, you don't plot anything, you don't hurt a single hair on Harvey's head. In turn, I will not tell of your identity, you can reside here safely, and I will do my very best to protect you as much as I do Harvey."

"My purpose here is for naught, then," Mike told her.

"Let's restructure your purpose for being here, then," Madam Jessica replied, "Vengeance _surely_ cannot be your only goal."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harvey<strong>_

"Are you who the whores call Master Illian?" Harvey asked.

The man, well in his forties with a belly full of beer, replied. "It is I, sire. Problem with yours?"

"I have a problem with _you_, I think," Harvey said.

"And what is your problem, Sire?"

Harvey rubbed his temple in exasperation. "What you are doing here is _illegal_, Illian, and I am afraid you could be shut down for –"

"I've heard it all before," the man said. "You will threaten to shut this establishment down, then I will say, 'why not shut other whorehouses down?' – to which you will reply that my virtue is vile, and I would remind you that _you_, Sir, have availed of my services."

Harvey grabbed a fistful of the plump man's shirt. "Need I tell you _who I am_? And I am not referring to your _whores_, Master Illian, I am referring to those you _house_."

The man chucked – laughed, really – the sinister sound filling the room. "The Rossians?" the man inquired. "Those that this beloved land has tortured relentlessly? I am afraid, Sire, that my arrangements are more merciful than the royal family's."

Harvey saw red. "Listen here. The Royal Family has treated the Rossians with dignity. The Prince has made sure of it. You will not continue this operation. You will surrender these people to the Kingdom, and they will be given proper homes –"

"—Proper homes in dungeons, you mean," Illian said. "I do believe that you are a poor lad, quick to defend the Kingdom, for She has given you your needs. She has hidden the truth from you," he said. He coughed, clearing his throat, before he continued. "Nothing is what it seems in Sydia, milord. I implore you – open your eyes before the Kingdom fools you."

Harvey grabbed a fistful of the man's hair. "This is treason," he spat.

"Not treason, Sir. Truth," the man said.

Harvey released his grip on the man, and went on his way. His father will hear of this. He _will_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 1.3<strong>_

_**Cameron**_

Kings hardly get any sleep.

At first, responsibility plagues them. Then later, it is fear. Fear of treason, fear of betrayal – fear of death, ultimately. Cameron knew he cannot bide his time, not when he has conquered kingdoms and has garnered hatred in the process.

He sighed. In his hands was a jade necklace his wife had given his son before she died. _This belongs to Harvey_, she told him, _a reward for the harvest._ Yet still, Harvey has not made him proud. His son was too busy fighting kid's war to go to a real one. Dueling should be _outlawed_, but the Council will not have it. _The townspeople will panic, Your Majesty_, they told him. _There will no longer be any distraction_.

This damn kingdom will be better off _without_ distraction, which is precisely what keeps Harvey unfit for Kingship. His son was a rebel, he knew – but gods, he was also brilliant, in a way his other sons were not. If only he can settle him down with a suitable wife and ship him off to war and have him see the _real_ world…

A knock interrupted his thoughts. _Louis_, he thought.

"Enter," he said.

Louis, his adviser, entered the room bringing several papers – among them, a map. "There has been news, Your Grace."

Cameron observed Louis' fiddling with the papers, jittery fingers, and sweaty palms. This must not be good news, then. This is what keeps Cameron awake at night.

"I gather from your disposition that this is ominous news you bring me," the king said.

"Just a minor slip, Your Majesty," Louis said, as he laid out the map. "Rebels, from the South Border near Cilantris, have looted the towns for resources –"

"—which our men should take care of –" Cameron interrupted.

"Except they could _not_. Our men have mysteriously gone _missing_, Sir, and we are afraid that the Rebels are advancing to the East to kidnap more men."

"Kidnap," Cameron echoed. "Then replace them with more bloody troops!"

"Will all due respect, Your Grace—"

"No bullshit, Louis,"

"—That will leave us weak, and that is not a sustainable solution." Louis said. "We'll lose those men again."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Cameron roared. This was fear speaking_. Put yourself together, you are invincible, you are the goddamn King of Sydia_ _– the most bloody powerful kingdom in all of Ceylen._

"Investigate, Sir," Louis said meekly. It was almost laughable, really. Louis has always been an arrogant man, but to have him quiver in fear was a delightful sight. It relieved Cameron to know that he still has power over people like goddamn _Louis_.

Cameron huffed a breath. "Investigate."

"Yes, Sir."

Cameron considered this proposal. "Then send troops to investigate!"

Another knock interrupted the conversation.

"Father?" the voice demanded. "Father, it's Harvey."

Cameron looked at Louis, still sweaty with fear, and looked at the door. "Enter," he said.

Harvey entered, sweaty and tired – no doubt from the taverns, Cameron concluded.

And he thought of a _perfect_ idea.

"Magnificent, Harvey, I was about to call for you!"

Harvey winced. "Who uses 'magnificent' anymore, Father?" he said.

"I do," Cameron said. "Regardless, there have been developments near the South Border, and our troops have been kidnapped –"

"What has this got to do with me, again?" Harvey asked.

Cameron sighed. "This has bloody well _everything_ to do with you, boy!" he said. "I am sending you to investigate the cause."

Louis, beside Harvey, gawked in surprise. Harvey, on the other hand, had his mouth open. Good _gods_, and these two were the most powerful people of the land?

"Compose yourselves, both of you. It is unbecoming of your positions."

Louis cleared his throat. Harvey shut his mouth.

"Harvey, prepare yourself. You will ride at dawn. Louis, see to it that you have troops prepared for him."

"But Father –" Harvey said, his hands extended.

"No excuses, Harvey," Cameron said. "Pay attention for _once_ in your bloody life. Now both of you, _leave_."


	4. Chapter 2

_**As always, I do appreciate the love. :)**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Mike<strong>_

"_Dearest Rachel (And Gran, and Trevor, and Jenny) —_

_My first week in the castle has been hectic. Already, someone has discovered my identity: Duchess Jessica of the Pearson house. She was aide to Mother, according to her; I had verified the truth through the various books that the Specters keep in their library. (They have preserved my collection, so praise the heavens for that. I am still bitter that they hold ownership to them, but I digress. I still have access, and that is what matters, I suppose.) However, she has grown fond of the Crown Prince Harvey. I still think he's a prick, but Lady Pearson told me to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know if my emotions will allow it, but I will try._

_This only means one thing: Trevor, don't do anything stupid!_

_I know you all mean well, but for the love of all things good, please do __not__, under any circumstances, join the damn rebellion (except Trevor, because knowing him, he has already). Word has reached the castle that the rebels have been kidnapping Knights and Guards and are you fucking STUPID? Their military is still as strong as they were when war broke out. This is futile, I assure you. So Trevor, as you probably already ARE a member of the rebellion, be __careful__. Fight in my stead. My agreement with Lady Pearson lasts for six full moons. I'm sure you can take count. I've waited for one whole __cycle__ (that's twelve moons and a half, Trevor) – what's six more?_

_In light of the news (Prince Harvey informed me that the kidnapping is happening near the border, pretty close to you), I will ride out with the Prince, as he is tasked by the King to investigate. If time allows, I may be able to meet you in secret._

_Rachel, this is your signal. Find a way to get inside the castle._

_Trevor, again, __be careful__. Jenny, kick his head for me. Please?_

_Granny, as always, thank you._

_Michael."_

Mike folded the letter, and tied it to an owl bound for Cilantris. He sighed. He seriously cannot _believe_ that this was merely his first _week_ in the castle. Time seemed to move fast and slow, all at once: the amount of activity kept the days passing quicker, but surveying the past week had led him in disbelief – has this seriously been just _one week_?

It was a bit near twilight, and Mike was shivering through his layers of clothing. He could never get used to the cold over here. He still can't believe that this is summer in Sydia.

Prince Harvey had him pack his belongings – "A few clothes to change into, and whatever the hell you use to sharpen my sword and polish my armor. We're leaving at dawn," the Prince said earlier.

Mike hadn't gotten much sleep since he entered the castle. He was either woken up by strange dreams, or roused by Madam Agnes (and the occasional Prince Harvey). Exhaustion still made his movements slow, much to the Prince's annoyance, and Mike had wanted to _try_ to please him, just so Madam Jessica wouldn't get on his ass about it. ("_Make your acting believable, for gods' sakes,_" she told him.) His feet still ached and he still felt the chill to his very core. Nonetheless, Mike moved on.

If there was one thing Mike was thankful for, it was Nicholas, his horse. He still couldn't believe he owned it (as much as he owns it, anyway – Royce, the stable-hand, told him that the royal family owns all horses in the stable, but Prince Harvey was open to having all sorts of men use the horses, save for his). Nicholas had been home in a foreign place, as much as the Specter library was.

* * *

><p>Madam Donna told Mike about the library.<p>

It was no secret that the Lady loved interacting with pretty much _everybody_. She talked to the Knights in the morning, then to the cooks in the afternoon. Mike was eating breakfast in the kitchens that day, when Madam Donna entered.

"So," Madam Donna said, "New kid."

Mike swallowed his porridge and looked at the Lady. "Aye, Madam Donna," Mike replied.

"Call me Donna," the Lady said, "Everyone else does."

Madam Agnes, who was seated next to Mike, laughed. "You best be careful, milady," she said. "This lad here's been asleep all week,"

Mike scowled.

"Done with your breakfast?" Madam Agnes asked, standing up and clearing the dishes.

Mike nodded.

Madam Donna took the seat previously occupied by Madam Agnes, and proceeded to examine Mike. Mike felt the same as he had when Lady Pearson surveyed him. It seemed to him that people liked _looking_ at things in this side of the world.

"I like to pride myself in knowing everything," the Lady said, "But I believe I don't recognize you. I assume that you're not from around these parts."

"No, milady. I'm from Cilantris – a few days from here."

"Again, it's _Donna_. The lady stuff make me feel old."

"Uh, erm. Donna," Mike corrected. "May I ask what someone like you is doing in somewhere like this?"

"My brother tells me that I needed to give you some lecturing," Donna said, "Because it seems to him that you ask about almost every single thing, and he has this tendency to be very, very _annoyed_."

"I never knew life in the Capital, Donna," Mike said, the name still foreign to his tongue. "I was in Cilantris for most of my life" – which was a lie – "and I have no idea how to get from place to place or do what the prince demanded me to" – which wasn't.

Donna shook his head. "Shouldn't you already _know_ these things?" she inquired. "You were supposed to be good at this!"

"I, uh…" Mike stammered, speechless. How can he tell Donna that he was playing pretend-servant in a way that didn't sound suspicious. He came up with nothing, but thankfully –

"Well, you'll learn. The stable-hand said that you're a quick learner. Speaking of which, Agnes told me that you like to read."

Mike nodded. "It's a pastime of mine, yes. Who told you that? Uh, if you don't mind my asking."

"Agnes did. And Sir Ray. Reading books on _war_ and _policy_. Really." Donna said, raising an eyebrow.

Mike laughed nervously. This felt much like an inquisition. The only thing that's lacking, really, is the fear of beheading. Well – he may as well be in that danger, knowing Donna's status. But somehow, Mike felt comforted by her presence. The cause had not made itself known to him, but he'll take small mercies wherever he can.

"Aye. I'd like to think I'm fit to understand conversations between the Knights," Mike said.

"You're… peculiar, James Zane," Donna said, dragging a finger down Mike's chest. "But you're interesting. I can see why Harvey's been patient with you."

Mike grabbed Donna's wrist and cleared his throat. "I am glad you think so, milady," – to be met with Donna's icy glare – "Donna."

Donna smiled amusedly, and winked. "Off I go then," she said.

Mike's eyes trailed Donna's figure down the hall. She placed a finger up in the air, and turned her head over her shoulder, looking at Mike.

"Oh, and you have access to our library. Tell Joshua I permitted you."

Donna walked off, leaving Mike both elated and confused. On one hand, Mike was infinitely thankful for Donna's generosity, but on the other – he was genuinely afraid of what she _could _possibly know.

Curious, that lady. If Mike didn't know any better, he'd say she was _magical_.

* * *

><p>Donna was not the only interesting personality in this castle. Mike found that there were plenty of entertaining people behind these walls – all with warm laughter and genuine humor, with great optimism despite the harsh cold of the country. Among them was Sir Ray, a Knight who personally serves Prince Harvey.<p>

Mike had seen Ray in the castle's courtyard, carving trinkets, and Mike's curiosity got the better of him. He brought the Prince's armor and swords and found a place beside Ray.

"Is this seat taken?" Mike asked.

"Certainly not," Ray said, making room for Mike and the Prince's belongings. "You may sit – you're Harvey's new one, aren't you?"

Mike smiled politely. "Yes, Sir, I am."

"Word goes around," Ray said, "And it doesn't help that you're bringing his swords along, too."

Mike laughed. "Well, a servant does what he must."

"I know how that feels like," Ray said. "I was something like a servant once before."

This piqued Mike's interest. "What do you mean by 'before,' Sir? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind, no," Ray said, setting down the wood and knife. He faced Mike. "I was something of a carriage-driver once before. I was hired because I was good with geography. Not a lot of people's strong suit, not with all the snow around," he began.

Mike nodded. "I would imagine not, Sir."

"Harvey – Harvey being Harvey, he would always go to the taverns a bit after dusk –"

"—Does he always do that?" Mike interrupted.

"What, the taverns?" Ray asked. He laughed heartily. "Yes, yes. A common occurrence, that poor lad. And so one night, while he was in his usual state –"

"Which I can assume to be inebriated," Mike guessed.

Ray chortled. "A bit more than that, I presumed. He left a couple of swords in this very cart. The finest swords they were, forged by the greatest blacksmiths of this land. I knew the sigil of the Royal House, of course, as I was hired by them. It is known that not one man can touch or has touched that sword since Prince Harvey himself—"

"—Or the blacksmith," Mike added.

"Yes, the blacksmith indeed," Ray said. He picked up the half-carved wood and the knife, and continued shaving off pieces of wood. "And so I had personally ensured safe delivery to Harvey and he offered me a position as his Knight. I refused, of course."

Mike tilted his head, wanting to ask the imminent question. Instead, he waited for Ray to continue his story.

"But he's persistent, that Harvey. And so it was: I am a Knight."

"Interesting," Mike said. "But – is Harvey _really_ that nice? I doubt that based on his demeanor alone, and—"

"He'll warm up to you," Ray said. "Heavens knows people here need thawing before they begin."

Mike laughed. "It seems that most people are like that around here."

Ray peered at Mike, his hands gripping the wood and the knife tight. "Well, Mike," he said. "Nothing is what it seems in Sydia."

A shiver ran down Mike's back, and yet again, he was _sure_ it wasn't from the cold.

Mike hadn't even told Ray his name.

Mike's agreement with Rachel, Jenny, and Trevor is as such: Rachel enters the castle when Mike signals her; Trevor will join the resistance to gain their loyalty to Mike; and Jenny will be Mike's messenger the whole way. Mike found that it was safe for Rachel to enter the castle, given the peaceful circumstances. Mike's pretty sure that Trevor has joined the resistance army already, seeing as Trevor was a particularly mischievous man with no patience for planning and waiting. That's how he has always been, and that's how he has always gotten into trouble.

Now, with the letter written and his sack arranged, he proceeded to the gatehouse to where he met with Royce. He saddled Holden, the Prince's horse, and Nicholas, his own.

He felt the dawn fast approaching, and Mike can only hope that the road ahead is without incident.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Donna<strong>_

"So."

"So," Harvey said, rage evident in his tone of voice.

"Pops is sending you away, huh," Donna said.

"So you _heard_," Harvey said, slamming the lids of trunks and throwing his armor and clothes with abandon onto his bed. "And – why are you still awake?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Ugh, how can I _not_ be with all the _commotion_ around the house?"

Harvey looked to Donna and tilted his head. "You're nosy."

Donna daintily placed a hand on her chest. "Oh, I'm offended," she said.

"Your sarcasm is hilarious," Harvey said. "Now, if you're gonna stay awake, be useful. Hand me those clothes – _no_, the red one – no the _other_ red one."

Donna bit her lip. "Why are you so _angry_? You were quite happy before you left for the taverns – oh wait," Donna raised her hand. "Don't tell me. You _didn't_ get laid. Oooooh."

Harvey glowered. "I'll humor you, dear sister," he said. "I didn't."

"That's funny, because I'm _not_ your sister," Donna said. She sat down on Harvey's bed – to be met with Harvey's arms extended in exasperation.

"Yeah, let me sit. And _you_ sit down. Tell me, what's going on?" Donna asked.

Harvey shook his head. "Nothing's going on," he said. "Just… a wrinkle."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "A wrinkle," she said incredulously.

"I'll tell you when I get back," Harvey said. "Right now, I'm just… letting this pass."

"Alright, I'll let you do that," Donna said. "But I'm Donna. I _will_ know."

"I'd prefer if you know it from me," Harvey said, "But my time does not permit it." Harvey stood up, and began fiddling with his belongings again: swinging swords and choosing shields, testing his spears and practicing his footwork.

"Alright, then. Let _me_ tell _you_ about my day if it will make you feel better," Donna said. "I talked to the kid. Around noon, when you were galvanizing the anger of women everywhere."

Harvey chuckled. He glanced at Donna, eyebrows raised. "Oh, did you ruin his innocence already?"

"I think his books will do that before I could," Donna said. "I gave him access to the library, by the way."

Harvey tilted his head. "He knows how to read?"

Donna laughed. "Interesting things they say, the helpers and the servants."

"You talked to them? Again?" Harvey said. "Didn't father tell you to keep away from them?"

Donna crossed her arms. "And do I look like I give a shit as to what your dad says, Harvey?"

Harvey glared at Donna, biting his lip. "He's not my 'dad,' Donna," he said bitterly.

Donna sighed. He always knew of Harvey's internal struggles with Cameron, and had always hated it. That wasn't to say that she did not understand _why_ Harvey hated Cameron; in fact, she hated the King with equal passion. While she had always been thankful for Harriet Specter's generosity and kindness in taking her in, she harbored distrust with Cameron early on.

"I know, Harvey," Donna said. "But that doesn't mean you have to hate him for every single thing he makes you –"

"I was supposed to tell him something, Donna," Harvey said. "Supposed to report something before he had me sent off this stupid trip. I – I don't feel like he even _cares_ anymore."

"Harvey," Donna said, comforting, "You know he does –"

"Save me the bullshit," Harvey said. "It's not true and you know it, I know it, Jessica knows it, the whole damn _castle_ knows that this stupid fucking _trip_ is just some way to get me _away_ from this place."

Donna bit her lip. What could she possibly say to that? She wanted to comfort Harvey, true, but she also wanted to be truthful. Donna was never one for nonsense, and Harvey knew it. Donna has always felt particularly protective of Harvey, even if the latter wasn't even his blood brother. She's been covering his ass from pathetic rumors and Cameron's bullshit since the day he was born. Or something close to that, anyway.

Donna smiled. "Think about it this way," she said. "With _you_ away, you can get more ass, and oh, I don't know, maybe even _fall in love_."

Harvey smirked. "Me? Fall in love?" he said. "Don't be ridiculous."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harvey<strong>_

It was fast approaching dawn, and Harvey's men were gathered near the gatehouse.

"Do you need help with _anything_, Sir?"

Harvey looked at whoever asked that _inane_ question and scoffed. "Do I look like I need help to you?"

The kid cowered. "No, Sir, I just thought that you –"

"Don't be stupid. I've got my horse, I packed my things, and you should go be where the other soldiers are and _not_ bother me. Sounds good to you?"

The kid returned to where the Knights were.

Harvey, meanwhile, heard a sigh from behind him. He looked behind only to see an exasperated James Zane, saddling the horse. James intrigued him, still.

"Is there a problem?" Harvey asked.

James shook his head. "No, Sir. I find your treatment of Sir Durant a bit unfair."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "Try having him beside you in battle and we'll see who's being unfair."

James chuckled. "I haven't had that opportunity, Sir," he said, "But I'm certain that he still acts with honor nonetheless. He surely seems to respect you, if his offer of help was an indication."

Harvey scowled. "He's an ass-kisser," he said. "His job is to kiss my ass."

"He's a Knight, Sir," James countered. "His job is to serve you like I do."

Harvey wanted to _laugh_. "Kid," he said, "You're way too _naïve_."

James smiled a wide, bright, legitimately genuine smile. "I'd like to think I'm _optimistic_."

"I did say you were optimistic," Harvey said.

"You said that I was _naïve_ – which I doubt is a bad thing," James said, "But you implied that I was _stupid_ on top of all that."

Harvey smirked, amused. He felt better already. "I could never imply your stupidity," he said matter-of-factly. "You are, as I heard from Donna, well-read."

James peered at Harvey. "Well-read means nothing in perspective, Sir," he said. "I may as well be reading stories of make-believe, with dragons and faeries and magic."

Harvey scoffed. "Of _course_ you'd be reading about stories with faeries," he said. "But naturally, I wasn't referring to faeries. Donna told me you read books on warfare."

"Warfare is one of my interests, yes, and maybe policy," James said. "I'm also interested in the Knights' Code, and _romance_," he added sardonically.

"Your enthusiasm is truly inspiring," Harvey said, deadpan.

James smirked. "I'm glad you think so, Sir."

Dawn broke and Cameron walked towards Harvey. Cameron was bringing with him a sword, _his_ sword, and Harvey didn't know what to say, what to do, how to act –

"Harvey."

Harvey stood a bit straighter, forgetting his rage from earlier. Because this is what it all comes down to, doesn't it? It's all about impressing his father – if he can only get his dad to _look_ at him again.

Cameron stood in front of Harvey, every inch the indomitable King that he was. Harvey swallowed and balled his fists, containing his anxiety. Cameron stretched his right hand – the hand holding the sword – eyes beckoning.

"This belongs to you, I believe," Cameron said.

Harvey stood speechless.

Cameron stepped closer. "Go ahead, Harvey," he said. "Take it."

Harvey reached out for the sword, exhaling when he grabbed the handle. "I – I don't know what to say," he said.

"Don't say anything," Cameron said. "Now, run along. You will be fine."

* * *

><p>Harvey's mind was still occupied, of course, even after hours on this goddamned trip. He was still angry with his father, with the peddler Ilian, with Donna, and soon – he was just exhausted. He was mad, but he didn't know what he should be angry about. He didn't know what it all <em>meant<em>.

James, to his right, was all smiles, of course. Harvey had wanted to be annoyed at the very fact – how does this _lowlife_ find happiness when Harvey clearly cannot be? And he looked so joyful, too, save for the fact that he was wrapped in layers and layers of blankets.

Seriously, what was _up_ with the blankets?

"It's to keep warm, Sir," James said. Had Harvey said the question out loud?

James laughed. "You have, Sir," he said. "I presume it's from your exhaustion. Had no sleep, Sir, have you?"

Harvey shook his head. He shouldn't even bother with playing nice with this guy. There's just something so… infectious about his warmth, though, even if he _was_ wrapped in blankets.

"Come on," James continued. "It can't be all that bad. Surely you can find blessing outside your castle walls!"

Harvey didn't know how to interpret all that. Was that a thinly-veiled insult at his being sheltered (which, mind you, was a completely baseless speculation)? Was this his servant doing his job? Was this, in any way, his servant _comforting_ him?

"Don't look so upset, Sir," James said, "There's much to be had in the great outdoors!"

Harvey was _way_ too messed up to deal with this. James seemed to take noticed and sobered up (for lack of a better word), and smiled softly.

James pursed his lips. "You just need some sleep," he said. "We _all_ need some sleep."


End file.
